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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 








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OLD WATER-MILL 
RHYMES 


MOSES M? HODSON 

“mose the miller” 



AUTHORS & PUBLISHERS CORPORATION 
Fourth Avenue and 30th Street, New York 


■? VS 3S-/S- 
.0,10 4. 


Copyright, 1923, by 
Moses M. Hodson 


©C1A752850 
'Vu> f. 

SEP 10'23 


j 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction .7-8 

Naturei . . . 9 

An Evening Prayer . 9 

The New Year . 9 

My Desire . 10 

Wild Roses . 11 

Invisible . 13 

The Old Maid . 14 

Falling Leaves . 15 

February . 16 

Some Men . 17 

Kindness . 18 

A Request . 19 

House-Cleaning Time . 19 

Winter Wind . 21 

Up and Down the OId Mill Race . 21 

If We Knew Each Other . 22 

April . 23 

My Duty . 24 

Sayin' “Howdy” . 24 

Our Mother . 25 

By the Fire . 26 

My Ole Corn-Cob Pipe . 28 

Inspiration . 28 

Our Influence . 30 

Hoe Your Row . 30 

May . 31 

The Old-Fashioned Girl . 32 

Natural . 33 

Thrills of Nature . 34 

The Goldenrod . 35 

In Rememberance . 36 

As I WIatch the World Go By . 37 

A Hoosier Lass . 38 

Once More . 39 

A Little Tress of Hair . 39 

Be A Man . 40 

Oh 1 You June! . 40 

It's So . 40 

The Bumble-Bee's Nest . 41 

Sweet Sixteen . 42 

The Weeping Willow . 43 

A Quaker Maid . 44 

Thanksgiving Pete . 47 


5 














































CONTENTS, Cont'd 


PAGE 

To Percy Frazer . 48 

In Reverie . 49 

Village Loafers . 51 

Scattering Flowers . 52 

Bare-Foot Boys . 53 

Late Summer . 54 

The Nobler Things . 55 

Childhood's Pleasures . 57 

"October" .. 58 

Patience . 59 

The Place Where We Were Born . 60 

Seems So Long . 61 

It's Natural . 61 

The Abandoned Water-Mill . 63 

The Razor Strap . 65 

In Memory . 66 

A Woman's Apron . 67 

At the Window . 68 

The Man We Love . 69 

A Hoosier's Views . 69 

Getting Even . 71 

Some Men Folks . 73 

A Petition . 74 

Empty Arms . 76 

On the Old Mill Race . 76 

Greeting . 78 

When You Have the Blues . 80 

Some Old Friends .'. 81 

Ere We Sleep . 82 


6 































INTRODUCTION 


When, in the Fifteenth Century, a cobbler poet, 
Hans Sachs, rapped out his exquisite songs to the ac¬ 
companiment of the tick-tack of his hammer, the peo¬ 
ple, from humble to great, flocked to his lowly work¬ 
shop, and because of him Nuremburg grew in fame. 
As in those days the inspired cobbler-poet sang, so 
now in this present collection of verse is heard the 
voice of the miller-poet, Moses M. Hodson, whom 
one might almost picture sitting like some present-day, 
flour-bespattered Pan, piping forth the music that 
springs from a being filled with a boundless love of 
the great outdoors. 

There is, so far as we are aware, no poet in America 
quite like the author of this volume, familiarly styled 
“Mose the Miller.” Here is one who for years and 
years, while operating his little mill, has sensed the 
Gospel of the Open Sky, the Forest, the Stream, and, 
too, the Gospel of Brotherhood, lifting his voice above 
the accompanying musical whirr of his mill-wheel to 
carry to the world his interpretation of the music of 
the spheres. And who is there who would not envy 
the man,—miller or monarch,—who can make of the 
limitless acres of space that lie between the tree-tops 
and the sky a realm in which his unfettered fancy 
may roam at will? As we read his poems, which, as 
he expresses it, “just come bubbling up as I work in 

r 


the mill,” we can almost see the man whose mill¬ 
wheel awakes him not only to dwell in a world of toil, 
but to live in a sun-flecked, rose-scented kingdom, to 
which he is trying to give entrance to all who read. 
This volume, then, seems almost the key to his realm 
of enchantment. 

Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the poetic forms 
in which his poems are shaped that is one of the most 
enviable gifts of Mose the Miller, for it makes his 
work breathe cheer and sincerity and spontaniety and 
an unutterable faith in the deathlessness of the good, 
the beautiful, the true. He calls his work “Old Water- 
Mill Rhymes/’ but they are more than mere rhymes; 
for they seem to make poetry take on a new meaning, 
the naive independence of the poet’s handling of his 
themes making for their appeal. By the simplicity of 
his treatment he shows that he has gone down into 
the secret places of his soul and has drawn out into 
the light the treasures hidden there, in order that 
others might enjoy the wealth of happiness and cheer 
that is his. For in those secret places of his soul (as 
herein revealed) where Mose the Miller keeps his 
store is amassed the greatest wealth of all the world, 
—the content that comes of a knowledge of the calm 
and wonder and beauty of Nature, and of the love 
and peace of God. 

THE PUBLISHERS. 


8 


NATURE 


I, who love nature, on its beauties look 

And see reflected as from burnished steel 
Splendors that to my senses do appeal: 

Much more than I can learn from written book 
I find in woodland and the babbling brook. 

Where the mysterious hand tries to conceal. 
And bud and flower and vine do there reveal 
The wondrous secret. In some shady nook,— 
Where naught can interfere^—on velvet grass 
I sit, where, springing from the fertile sod, 
The fragrant flowers in the breezes nod 
A welcome unto all who chance to pass. 

While fleecy clouds that fleck a sky like glass,— 
All show the marvel of the works of God. 


AN EVENING PRAYER 

If, when I close my eyes to sleep,— 

As stars are peeping from the sky, 
And darker shadows ’round me creep 
And daily cares are all laid by,— 

If I’ve made burdens hard to bear 
Or caused a foot to go astray, 

Oh, hearken to my ev’ning prayer; 
Forgive me now, O Lord, I pray! 

If I have voiced words that are vain 

To-day that brought a sigh of grief,— 


9 


10 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


If I have turned aside from pain 
When in my power to give relief, 

Then ere I close my weary eyes 
At the departing of the day, 

Look down in mercy from the skies,— 
Forgive me now, O Lord, I pray! 

Forgive the secret sins I do 

That other eyes can never see, 

For naught is hidden from Thy view— 
Then draw, oh, draw me nearer Thee! 
Teach me to walk within Thy light, 

And in the straight and narrow way, 
The sins contrary to Thy sight,— 

Forgive them now, O Lord, I pray! 


THE NEW YEAR 

While New Year brings to many joy and mirth, 
With aspirations rampant in their breast 
And lofty hopes on gilded wings are drest, 

And great achievements of this life have birth; 
With happy homes and children 'round the hearth, 
And earthly joys for those they love the best; 
With cares of life they’ll never be oppress’d, 
Enjoying richest blessings of this earth; 

To some the New Year brings a sense of care 

For with dull gloom their skies are clouded o’er, 
And cruel fate hath left his footprints there. 

With fangs of sorrow gnawing at their door, 
And in their hearts they breathe an earnest prayer 
For strength and means to heal the galling sore. 




OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


11 


MY DESIRE 

What I desire with all my heart 
Until my time on earth is past; 

None of my organs will depart,— 

Be organizing to the last; 

May I escape the surgeon’s knife 
Which I have ever held in awe, 

No broken bones,—to save my life 
He’ll be compelled to use his saw. 

My adenoids may I retain, 

And tonsils, too, where they should be 
And my appendix to remain 

And not be “took” away from me. 

I’ll bear all ills as best I can, 

All of my aches I’ll stand, and grin,— 
I don’t want “no old doctor man” 

Whetting his knife to carve my skin. 

I want to be all to myself 

And know I’m altogether there,— 

With no parts pickled on a shelf, 

And scattered all ’round everywhere,-— 
And go down to the grave complete 
When I cross to the other side; 

Then I can say to good St. Pete: 

“I’ve all my 'innards/ bones, and hide.” 


WILD ROSES 

While it may be jist a notion, 

Yet, somehow, it seems to me, 



12 OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


No flower awakes emotion 

Like wild roses that we see, 

That so quietly are growin' 

Out along some old rail fence. 

Where their beauty is o’erflowin' 

With the purest innocence. 

Er, where they're among the willers 
By a little ripplin' stream 
An’ grass soft as downy pillers. 

Where we love to lay an' dream 
An' see where they are a-creepin' 

In the branches up so high,— 

All the roses at us peepin' 

In a modest way so shy. 

Smetimes they look sort o’ faded 

Where the sunshine cain't git through 
But out where they are not shaded 
They are of a brilliant hue; 

Like upon some lovely mornin' 

Where they're growin' in a clump, 

An' the landscape are adornin' 

dingin' round some rotten stump. 

Although I am not a gambler, 

Still I think that I would bet 
That there is no kind of rambler 
That the high-toned people get 
Equals the wild-roses dingin' 

To a stump, or old rail fence,— 

Their fair fragrance far a-flingin' 

In their purest innocence I 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


13 


INVISIBLE 

I walked along a quiet strand, 

The sky with stars was studded o’er, 

And there, upon the glittering sand, 

The tiny wavelets kissed the shore. 

Alone,—but oh, yet not alone!— 

For memories did old ties renew, 

A warm hand-pressure in my own 
Told of affections kind and true. 

Again, upon a mountain high 

The raging storms around me swept, 

And howling winds were rushing by,— 

Yet thou wert with me step by step. 

Alone,—but oh, yet not alone 

Emotions made my soul rejoice, 

I heard the ever-tender tone 

Of thy sweet, winsome, silver voice. 

And when, within a forest wild, 

The silence was so deep and great. 

Where nature pure and undefiled 
Awaited there the hand of fate. 

Alone,—but oh, yet not alone!:— 

Contentment followed with me still, 
That did for solitude atone, 

And all my hungry longings fill. 

Oh, kind friend of my youthful day, 

The grass has years and years been green 
Upon the grave, yet all the way 

Thou art still with me, though unseen. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


l4 


Alone,--but oh, yet not alone\— 

Thou ever ling’rest close to me; 

There's naught around my pathway thrown 
Can blot thee from my memory. 


THE OLD MAID 

When’er an old maid sets her head 
That it is time for her to wed. 

She’ll try all lotions to be found 
To keep the nasty wrinkles down; 

And massage, too, from day to day, 

To shoo them from her face a way. 

She gets more careful with her clothes, 
And puts more powder on her nose, 
Then tries to look so neat and trim 
As wedlock chances get more slim; 

And is contriving to disguise 
The crow’s-feet playing ’round her eyes. 
And will to entertainments go 
Then do her best to catch a beau. 

So gracefully she’ll move about, 

And try to cut some young girl out 
Of her sweetheart, and spread her net 
To try a youthful mate to get; 

Or, if that chance does not occur. 

Take some old bach, or widower. 

All cunning art that is displayed 
Is practised by a shrewd old maid. 

And some old maids that we have met 
Took any old man they could get; 

Then settled strictly down for life, 

And made a most devoted wife. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


15 


But then, the best of old maids yet 
Are those who do not foam and fret, 
Nor splutter all around and rant 
And try to get a man,-—and can’t. 

For they are angels in their sphere, 
The kind that we all love so dear. 

I wish I had been born a girl, 

With rosy cheeks and flowing curl; 
Then single all my life I’d stayed, 

And been a charming, sweet old maid. 


FALLING LEAVES 

The maple leaves are crimson now, 
Which, falling softly from the bough. 
Are swirling in the autumn breeze, 

And drifting underneath the trees. 

The ripened nuts are pattering down, 
And meadow green is turning brown 
While fleecy clouds are floating o’er, 
And winter’s knocking at the door. 

A calmness on the smoky air 
Is ’round about us everywhere, 

Which makes the faded landscape seem 
Like some sweet half-forgotten dream 
Of childhood days, when life was new 
And all was pure as crystal dew— 

No pen nor tongue can e’er portray 
The beauties of an autumn day. 

O autumn, with the hoards of gold. 
And matchless splendor all untold! 



16 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


There is a sense of loveliness 
That fills our hearts with happiness. 
Although there are some sad regrets 
For faded rose and violets, 

We know in balmy days of spring 
They’ll bloom again, and birds will sing. 

There comes with every passing breath 
A voice that whispers: “There’s no death!” 
While earthly charms will fade away, 
They’ll come again another day. 

’Though winter snowdrifts ’round us heap. 
All shall awake that fall asleep. 

Replenished by the fertile sod, 

And show the glories of our God. 

There’s ever with the falling leaf 
A compensation for all grief: 

That when we reach our autumn, too, 

And worldly cares are almost through 
We then may rest with blest content 
From time and labor that’s well spent. 

And view with joy life’s setting sun 
O’er victories that we hav® won. 


FEBRUARY 

February’s purt’ nigh gone, 

Longer days now cornin’ on; 

Soon the fierce March winds will blow, 
Scatter little skifts of snow 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


17 


Everywhere upon the ground, 

Make it nasty gittin’ ’round. 

February, you’re a peach!— 

For we laud in lofty speech 
All the ones you gave birthdays, 

We will ever sing their praise! 

Noble men and women, too, 

Who have served us staunch and true. 
February, while you’re shy 
A few days, no reason why 
We should rant around and fuss 
When you are so good to us. 

You give us a prophet too, 

So we’ll know just what to do: 

When ground-hog his shadder sees, 
Quick into his den he flees, 

Safety from the storms he seeks, 

To remain for six more weeks. 

And one year in ev’ry four. 

You allow us one day more, 

And you give old maids a show 
To fix up and ketch a beau 
For to share their earthly love 
And meet them in realms above. 

We’ll not rip around and snort 
’Cause you are a few days short! 


SOME MEN 

You know, we often hear a man 
Claim he’s honest as can be, 

But when he gets a chance, and can, 

He’ll pinch you hard, and then you’ll see 



18 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


He’ll treat you with cold scorn and hate. 
And cuss you, too, without a doubt; 
But when a man is going straight 

He’ll never boast, you’ll find it out. 


KINDNESS 

There is nothing that we find 
Pays like always being kind,— 

Better far than shining gold, 

And its worth cannot be told; 

Brings the largest dividends 
In true, warm, and lasting friends; 

To the heart gives sweet content, 

And it does not cost a cent. 

When we worry, scold, and fret, 

It will ever cause regret; 

Harsh and hasty words will smart 
Like a cruel poisoned dart; 

In the end will never pay, 

But will drive our friends away. 

Of kind words we ne’er repent,— 

And they do not cost a cent. 

Kind words oft will soothe a care; 

Ease a burden hard to bear; 

Make a sad eye sparkle bright, 

And a heavy heart beat light. 

Kindness never makes a foe. 

Makes our friendships stronger grow. 
Makes our enemies relent,— 

And it does not cost a cent! 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


19 


A REQUEST 

When my sun’s sinking in the west, 

And I go to my long, long rest,— 

My body will return to clay, 

And spirit rise on Judgment Day 
To sail across the crystal sea,— 

One pray’r I trust they’ll say for me, 

When death’s cold shadows ’round me creep: 
’Tis, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” 

That little pray’r was taught to me 
In childhood’s tender infancy, 

Before my feet were wont to stray 
In sinful paths so far away. 

At eventide that pray’r was said 
When mother tucked me up in bed, 

And asked the Lord my soul to keep 
As “Now I lay me down to sleep.” 

Oh, who has learned a better prayer 
Here in this world of toil and care 
With all its pomp and vain pretense. 

Than that, of childish innocence? 

So, when my sun is sinking low 
And to the portals I must go, 

Where as I’ve sown I there shall reap. 

Say, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” 


HOUSE-CLEANING TIME 

No doubt, that when this world was new 
And merry birds sang tuneful lays, 



20 OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


When all was pure as crystal dew 

And every heart was full of praise. 

And Adam and his lovely spouse 

Were in that garden bright and fair, 
’Twas when Eve went to cleaning house 
That Father Adam learned to swear. 

Like most of men he tried to please 
And satisfy each little whim, 

But then, when nothing would appease, 
Perhaps it somewhat worried him. 

His carelessness he'd meekly own 
For what he did to make a muss, 

Then slip out by himself alone 

And stand and grit his teeth,-—and cuss. 

But when at last Eve called him in 

To help her move some heavy thing, 

He mustered up a cheerful grin 

Tried what consolement that would bring ; 
And when his back he’d nearly broke 
(The way he’d lifted was absurd!). 

She only harshly to him spoke 

Then he’d invent a new cuss word. 

Since then whene’er the house they clean, 
The women folks get badly peeved, 
And men will swear and act so mean,— 

Yet when it’s done they feel relieved. 
Now all who read this simple rhyme 
I think, like me, they will declare 
It must have been house-cleaning time 
When Father Adam learned to swear. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


21 


WINTER WIND 

Art thou the wind that blows to-day 
That brought the fragrant flowers of May; 
And fanned our brows at summer’s noon, 
When merry birds were all a-tune; 

And rippled streams that laved our feet, 
And. waved the fields of ripening wheat; 
And whispered through the leafy ftrees 
At twilight’s happy hour of ease? 

Art thou the wind that blows to-day, 
When wintry skies are cold and gray; 

And brings the pelting hail and rain 
That patters on the window pane? 

The brooklet thou hast frozen o’er. 

And piled snowdrifts around the door; 
The birds that merrily did sing 
Have flown from thee on fleeting wing, 

O winter wind, so chilling now 
That buds are^dorment on the bough! 

But they will open out in spring, 

And happy birds return and sing. 

And for us now sojourning here. 

Though oft we shed the briny tear, 

All stormy clouds will clear away,— 

There’ll be for us a brighter day. 


UP AND DOWN THE OLD MILL RACE 

Up and down the old mill race, 

On this earth’s no better place 



22 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


When I want to loiter ’round,— 

None, at least, I’ve ever found. 

Nature’s joys I there embrace,— 

Up and down the old mill race,— 

With the birds in bush and tree 
Just as happy as can be. 

With a fishing-pole and line 

Where the wild-grapes twist and twine, 

Up and down the old mill race 

Sweetest boyhood joys I trace. 

See more beauties as I go 
Saunt’ring past the old bayou,— 

Loveliness and charming grace,— 

Up and down the old mill race. 


IF WE KNEW EACH OTHER 

If you knew me, and I knew you, 

Each hope and motive understood, 

Our feelings would be warm and true 
Each fort the other, as they should; 

Emotions from the soul would start 
Like water flowing to the sea 
In springs of crystal from the heart, 

If I knew you, and you Icnew me. 

If we could know each other’s life, 

And all our thoughts were brought to light,— 
Easing the cares forever rife, 

Striving to walk with honor bright,— 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


23 


We’d only speak kind words of cheer, 
And scorn to fret or disagree; 
Mists from our skies would disappear 
If I knew you, and you knew me, 


If we but to ourselves live true. 

And conscience at all times obey, 

Whatever paths we may pursue, 

Then, sure as night doth follow day, 
Trust in each other we will place, 

All doubts would from our bosoms flee; 
Then, as we’re meeting face to face, 

I shall know you, and you know me. 


APRIL 

Now joy on earth doth everywhere abound,— 

And buds are swelling on each bush and tree, 
Their branches in the breeze wave gracefully; 
And happy birds are singing all around, 

On every side we hear their merry sound. 

All nature seems to clap its hands in glee, 

From winter’s icy fetters to be free 
Again. Thy depths mysterious are profound! 

Why wonder that our hearts are full of praise, 

And leap within our breasts as songs we sing 
Of all the loveliness that thou doth bring, 

Of gladness, mirth, and sweet sunshiny days, 

That we, like birds, pour forth our tuneful lays?— 
For, April, thou hast brought the happy spring! 



24 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


MY DUTY 

I’ll do my work as best I can 
As I go from day to day, 

And meet all duties like a man 

While I journey on the way. / 
For what is wealth, and what is fame 
When we are beneath the sod? 

Far better is a stainless name 

When we come before our God. 

What fate’s designed unto my care 
By no other can be done. 

And if the skies be foul or fair— 

I’m the one, the only one. 

For none can fill the other’s place 
In whatever path is trod, 

We’re sustained by the saving grace 
Of a just and all-wise God. 

Then faithfully I’ll do my work, 

For I know it is the best, 

And will my duty never shirk,— 

In the end I will find rest. 
Regardless of all hopes and fears 
With an even pace I plod, 

And through the rainbow of my tears 
See the glory of my God. 


SAYIN’ “HOWDY” 

Sayin’ “Howdy” does not cost 
.Anyone a copper cent, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


25 


Much is gained, and nothing lost, 
Oft a smile of merriment 
Will steal o’er a sad worn face, 
Where some sorrow’s left its trace; 
And a little word of cheer 
Oft will check a falling tear. 

Sayin’ “Howdy” wren you meet 
Friends or strangers as we go 
On the road, or city street, 

Even if we do not know 
Who they are, or where they live, 
Never worry, it will give 
Them some comfort, just the same, 
Though we do not know their name. 

Sayin’ “Howdy” all the day, 

From that greeting never slack, 
Cheer some one upon the way 
Whether he be white or black. 
Let the voice be warm and true, 
We can’t tell what it will do,— 
Just a kind word here and there 
Will make clouded skies more fair. 


OUR MOTHER 

What makes a home complete 
With everything so sweet, 

Where morning-glory vine 
Doth ’round the window twine 

And joys vie with each other, 
Where charming roses red. 



26 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Bloom by the pansy bed, 

And happy children play 
Through all the summer day ? 

It is a loving mother. 

And when the" day is done, 

The stars come one by one 
A-peeping from the sky, 

When sleepy is each eye, 

Then there is not another 
Can soothe the childish fears, 

And chase away the tears, 

And tuck them up in bed 
When ev’ning prayers are said 
Like a kind, loving mother. 

Wherever we may roam, 

The memories of home. 

Linger round us still 
While climbing up life’s hill,— 
The joys care cannot smother; 
Whatever is our lot 
There never is forgot 
The one our grief did share,— 
The earnest, fervent prayer 
Oft uttered by our mother. 


BY THE FIRE 

When the busy day is ended 

And I’m through with grinding grists, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


27 


Where sunshine with care is blended 
There’s no happier man exists; 

And no place that is more fitting, 

That fills all my heart’s desire, 

Then when with my wife I’m sitting 
Side by side before the fire. 

All the cares I am a-dropping 

That would cast a shadow o’er, 

And our happiness be stopping 

Are left then outside the door. 
With hearts light as any feather 
Then I take my tuneful lyre, 

As we draw our chairs together, 

Musing there before the fire. 

Though our eyes are growing dimmer 
Our sun’s sinking in the west, 

Yet there beams without a glimmer 
Loving rays within our breast. 
Though our home is not a palace 
With a bright and gilded spire, 

In our bosoms is no malice 

As we’re sitting by the fire. 

While the wheels of time still rumble 
Through the mighty realms of space. 
Be it e’er so low and humble 

Oh, there is no better place,— 
When we’re seeking sweetest pleasure 
Of which we will never tire 
And we’ll get the fullest measure,— 
Than at home around the fire. 



28 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


MY OLE CORN-COB PIPE 

In the ev’nin’ when I’m restin’, 

An’ the clouds have cleared away 
That my spirit was molestin’ 

Of a weary busy day; 

An’ the snowflakes are a-flittin’ 

Through the cold an’ frosty air, 

An’ I quietly am sittin’ 

In my easy rockin’-chair; 

Like an apple prime an’ meller 
In its season that is ripe, 

Jist the best contented feller 

Smokin’ my ole corn-cob pipe. 

Oh, ’tis then I love to ponder 

O’er the scenes now past an’ gone, 
As in memory’s halls I wander 
When life’s twilight’s cornin’ on! 

Oft fond pleasures I am findin’ 

Midst the turmoil an’ the strife, 

As I’ve slowly been unwindin’ 

This ole tangled skein of life. 

Down the lane of recollection 
I find joys of sweetest type, 

As I sit in retrospection, 

Smokin’ my ole corn-cob pipe. 


INSPIRATION 

Much deeper still than speech is thought, 
And more profound is what we feel; 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


29 


What’s in the soul cannot be taught 
That to the senses doth appeal. 

Our spirits in thin veils are dressed. 

And man to man is never known, 

Some hidden secret in each breast 

That to the world is never shown. 

For heart to heart doth never talk, 

And mind with mind will never blend, 
Regardless of how close we walk 

’Long, hand in hand, with dearest friend. 
All our communions are in vain 

To lift the veil that is between, 

And we will ever fail to gain 

The depths beyond this mortal screen. 

For long, long ages man has tried 
To fathom nature’s mystery, 

But what is all his boasted pride 
And what his wise philosophy. 

Compared with Him who reigns above 
And rules the destiny of man,— 

And shows the fullness of His love 

In His all-wise, all-wondrous plan? 

’Tis only when our souls do drink 

Deep at the fountain flowing free. 

And with His will securely link, 

That we can solve that mystery,— 

When by His gentle hand we’re led 
Up to the portals of the throne, 

And we’re by inspiration fed, 

That we can know as we are known. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


OUR INFLUENCE 

With careless hand we scatter seeds 

And little dream what they will bring, 
The goodly fruit,—or filthy weeds,— 

That mar the earth and leave a sting; 

The words we say, the deeds we do, 

We may imagine they are past, 

But in some form they’ll live anew, 

A blessing or a curse at last. 

Examples that we set each day 

Are impressed on some other mind. 
They’re not like birds that flit away 
And leave no ling’ring trace behind; 

It may be months, it may be years 
Before they will appear again 
With a full harvest of sad tears, 

Of aching heart and fevered brain. 

I charge thee ere it be too late, 

And opportunities have flown, 

- Ere thou com’st to the Golden Gate 

Where all shall reap as they have sown, 
To watch with ever-zealous care 

And always strew the goodly seeds; 

And when the grain is garnered there 

Twill not be mixed with noxious weeds. 


HOE YOUR ROW 

I was taught in tender youth 
Always to uphold the truth, 



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31 


Nor from duty e’er to shirk, 

But engage in honest work; 

And not try to scheme or plan 
To defraud my fellow-man,— 

As I journeyed here below 
Always aim to hoe my row. 

What’er fate brings, be content, 
To wrong motives not consent; 
All shortcomings to forgive,— 
Willing to let others live; 

Practice watchfulness, and try 
To do as I’d be done by. 
Self-sustaining as I go, 

Always aim to hoe my row. 

Showing kindness day by day 
To all I meet with on the way; 
And to let no harsh words fall 
That I never can recall. 

This has ever been my creed, 

As on life’s journey I proceed: 
Just in deal with friend or foe, 
Always aim to hoe my row. 


MAY 

Sweet, lovely May, with bud and bloom! 

And wafted on the ev’ning breeze 
Is the floweret’s rich perfume, 

And leaves are greening on the trees. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


And where the swinging grape-vines twine 
The wavelets in the sunshine gleam, 

Is happy boy with hook and line 
A-fishing in the rippling stream. 

Sweet, lovely May, with skies so fair, 

Bordering on the summer’s brink, 

We love to go and wander where 
The water-lillies calmy drink. 

See turtles basking in the sun 
Upon a log in the old bayou. 

And where the frog when day is done 

Tunes up his choir where cat-tails grow. 

Sweet, lovely May, we welcome you 
With merry birds and flowers gay 1 
The crystal drops of shining dew 

Sparkle where slanting sunbeams stray. 
Nature in brightest robes is drest, 

From leafy tree to turfy sod— 

There should be joy in ev’ry breast, 

With praise and gratitude to God. 


THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL 

We love to see the old-fashioned girl, 

With a blush on her cheek like a rose, 

Who is not lost in the mad social whirl 

Who’s content with plain, sensible clothes; 
Who helps her mother do cooking and scrub, 
And sings like a lark at her work, 

Does not go out with a pout to the wash-tub, 
Nor read silly novels, nor shirk. 



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33 


Whose dress is simple, comely, and neat, 

And whose manners are graceful, yet plain, 
Who gives a sweet smile to each one she’ll meet 
And has no conceit that is vain. 

She is kind-hearted, gentle, and true, 

And is eager to do what is right, 

With sincere motives ever in view,— 

Her presence is a source of delight. 

Who tries to console those in sore distress 

With some comforting words of good cheer, 
Bring a ray of light to their loneliness 

And to dry the bereaved orphan’s tear. 
She takes great pride in learning to cook,— 
Who selects her will not mourn his fate: 
Nine times out of ten man’s sure to look 
To the old-fashioned girl for a mate. 


NATURAL 

Girls love the sport, as well as boys, 
Of rambling out-of-doors, 

Where nature with its sweetest joys 
Is found along the shores; 

And by a little rippling stream, 

Where in the willow shade 
They watch the sunlight shyly gleam, 
And in the water wade. 

Girls love to hunt for mussel-shell 
Upon the shining sand, 

And secrets to each other tell 

While strolling hand in hand. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


And pluck the wild flower bright and gay 
That’s nodding in the breeze, 

And while the happy hours away 
Beneath the shady trees. 

Girls love to go where wild-grapes twine 
And hear glad birds that sing. 

Where they can take the clinging vine 
And make a rustic swing. 

Girls love to go and ramble ’round, 

So happy gay and free, 

Where all the purest joys are found 
In sweetest harmony. 


THRILLS OF NATURE 

I love to stroll where wild-roses bloom 

By a stream that flows through the vale, 
Where children’s mirth drives away all gloom 
At a vine-covered cot in the dale; 

And wild-ferns grow by the path leading ’round 
To a spring at the foot of the hill, 

Hear the water splash with a rippling sound 
O’er the wheel of the creaking old mill. 

Nature is robed in dazzling array 

And joy teems in each happy breast, 

The brown thrush is singing a tuneful lay 
To his mate in her downy nest. 

There’s a lovely charm in that mystic song 
In solitude, lonely and still, 

As smooth as the water that’s gliding along 
To the wheel of the creaking old mill. 




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35 


There is no pleasure so dear unto me 

As to wander ’neath skies that are fair,— 
Away from worry, so happy and free, 

With flowers in bloom everywhere,— 

By a silver stream where the willow tree grows 
And where nature my being doth thrill, 

And to watch the water that peacefully flows 
To the wheel of the creaking old mill. 

THE GOLDENROD 

In corners of the old rail fence 

By the fields of rip’ning maize 
And in the brier-patch so dense 
Where the timid rabbit strays, 

And in the bottom lands serene. 

By the path where stock has trod, 

In grandeur, an autumnal queen, 

Blooms the stately goldenrod. 

And in the tangled thicket where 
Once the thistle bold held sway, 

Its downy seeds now scattered there 
From the parent stem away, 

And flowers dying one by one 

That in summer flecked the sod, 

While in the mild September sun 
Blooms the stately goldenrod. 

And when the pasture fields are bare 
And the meadows closely shorn, 

When nature has a vacant stare 

Like someone whose heart doth mourn. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Then bending o’er the old stone wall 
With a sweet and graceful nod, 

As if to cheer both great and small 
Blooms the stately goldenrod. 

When leaves are fading on the trees 
And the days have shorter grown, 

And there’s a. chillness in the breeze 

And the birds have southward flown,— 
’Tis then to turn our thoughts above, 
When with weary steps we plod, 

To our Creator, God of love, 

Blooms the stately goldenrod. 


IN REMEMBRANCE 

Where our dearest loved lie sleeping 
So peacefully under the sod, 

Their spirits flown to the keeping 
Of an all-wise, merciful God. 

The spot that ’wakes tender emotions 
As with solemn footsteps we tread 
Away from life’s busy commotions 

Is the last resting-place of the dead. 

In our memory ever lingers 

The faces we’ll never forget, 

As we, with our kind, loving fingers 
And lashes with teardrops so wet; 

Place garlands we pluck from the bowers,— 
Their fragrance on breezes is shed,— 

We strew with the beautiful flowers 
The last resting-place of the dead. 



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3 7 


Brave ones, when our country was calling, 
With their crimson blood paid the price, 
To protect our great nation from falling 
They made the supreme sacrifice, 

And broke the harsh, strong, binding fetters 
And gave us our freedom instead," 

To them, we will ever he debtors,— 

We honor the graves of their dead. 


AS I WATCH THE WORLD GO BY 

Let me live in my lowly sphere 
As I watch the world go by, 

Oft I can speak a word of cheer 
That will soothe a weary sigh; 

Oft I can check a falling tear 
And bring luster to some eye, 

Oft I can calm a sense of fear, 

As I watch the world go by. 

Oft I can help to make more clear 
Some dark and lowering sky. 

Oft I can lighten the atmosphere 

When storms iare hovering nigh. 

Oft there comes stealing to my ear 
A. sad, faint, distressing cry, 

Oft I cause gloom to disappear, 

As I watch the world go by. 

Oft when some danger’s lurking near, 

To the rescue then I fly. 

Oft with wrong motives interfere 

And turn someone’s thoughts on high, 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Oft help them live a life sincere 

Drink at fount that ne’er runs dry,— 
Oft then they’ll lead a bright career,— 

As I watch the world go by. 


A HOOSIER LASS 

Fair, lovely maid, nature hath shed 
A dow’r of beauty on your head; 

For she saw fit your form to bless 
With all her charms of loveliness. 

In happy innocence you seem 
Like something fashioned in a dream,— 
A jewel on this soinbrous earth 
To gladden sad hearts with your mirth. 

And, like the azure of the skies, 

The truth beams from your sparkling eyes; 
And, then, from off your ruddy lip 
The bee would nectar love to sip 
Where sweet smiles play that seem to be 
Like sunny wavelets of the sea. 

And cluster’d ’round your brow so fair 
Are shining locks of golden hair. 

Sweet creature, may you ever be 
From cares of this harsh, vain world free; 
Your graceful charms forever keep 
Like fabled mermaids of the deep; 

And with your loving, winsome way, 

Your happy laugh, so bright and gay, 
Scatt’ring sunshine, joy and love, 

An angel dropt from realms above. 



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39 


ONCE MORE 

The ice did freeze, chill winds have blown, 
While winter claimed us for his own, 

The heavens clouded o’er; 

But now the raging blasts are through, 

And April skies are deepest blue 

Once more, once more, once more! 

And merry birds return again 
To cheer us with their music when 
Our hearts are faint and sore; 

The red-bud soon will wave its plume, 

And in the glen the dogwood bloom 
Once more, once more, once more! 

In all our journey of this life 
We are beset with earthly strife, 

And tempests ’round us roar; 

And dark clouds gather o’er our skies, 

Yet fate responds to each who tries 
Once more, once more, once more! 


A LITTLE TRESS OF HAIR 

A little tress of golden hair 

Treasured for years and years, 
Safeguarded in a mother’s care, 

And moistened with her tears. 

’Twas severed from a baby’s brow, 
Who with the dreamless sleeps, 
Who’s singing with the angels now 
While she the vigils keeps. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


It to her lips is often pressed 
When weary and alone, 

There’s a deep anguish in her breast 
That nothing can atone. 

That little tress of golden hair 

That in her heart she wove,— 

Is all that death to her could spare,— 
Enbalmed with her love. 


BE A MAN 

Whatever comes, to do our part. 
Although it may work to our ill, 
Just meet it with a cheerful heart 
Submissive to our Master’s will. 
Then, if we fall, or if we rise, 
Whoever does the best he can, 

Sure in the end will win the prize 

If in all things he’s been a man. 


OH 1 YOU JUNE1 

While June’s month of brides and roses, 
We’re told, so tradition discloses; 

But then we all know 
When a girl has the right beau 
She’ll wed any time he proposes. 

IT’S SO 

We’re governed by natural forces, 

And wedlock is one of its courses; 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


41 


But in all the months 
They regret marriage stunts 
And apply in the courts for divorces. 


THE BUMBLE-BEES’ NEST 

Ef you fool ’round a bumble-bees’ nest, 
You’d better watch out, they’ll git the best 
Uv you, sure an’ certain; 

An’ you don’t have to be told a thing,— 

For you’ll surely know it when they sting 
By the way it’s hurtin’. 

Wunst, when I wuz mowin’ medder grass, 
Clost to a nest I had to pass— 

An’ I run my scythe clean through it; 
The way them bees got after me, 

It wuz a holy sight to see, 

My! but I did rue it. 

Fer they jist made me hop ’round an’ dance— 
Wun uv ’em got up a leg uv my pants 
While my hands I was aflingin’ 

’Round my head, to keep ’em frum my eye, 
An’ that air wun crawled away up high,— 
Gee! but he wuz stingin’. 

An’ ’em ole bees made me purt’ nigh swear,— 
’Cause folks, passin’, goin’ to the fair 
Hard as they could clatter, 

Seed me cuttin’ capers that-a-way, 

An’ stopped to laugh, an’ yell, an’ say: 
“What the world’s the matter.” 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES - 


Bumble-bee’s an awkward lookin’ chap, 
But then when he gits into a scrap 
He’s sure a humdinger; 

But then ef you fool ’round his ole nest 
You’d better watch out, he’ll git the best 
Uv you with his stinger. 


SWEET SIXTEEN 

“Now you’re rather aged,” the young girl cried, 
“And your locks with silver would shine. 

If you did not keep them properly dyed,— 

And paint your cheeks redder than mine. 

You try to be modest, shy, and serene, 

As if wedlock’s chance you’d not missed, 

While I am, as you see, but sweet sixteen 
And ’till yet have never been kissed.” 

“While in years you’re old,” the young girl cried, 
“But you never speak of your age, 

Which you’re holding well,-—that can’t be denied— 
An expert with face camouflage. 

Your youth has flown, many winters you’ve seen, 
Oh, why do you now so insist 
To flirt with a girl’s beau who’s sweet sixteen 
And ’til yet has never been kissed?” 

“Twice you have told me I’m old, saucy lass,— 
’Tis a truth I very well know, 

Years quickly have flown, and still swiftly pass 
But then I can capture your beau. < 



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43 


The girls are few and quite far between 
And pleasures of life they have missed, 
Whenever they’ve lived to be sweet sixteen 
And don’t know what it is to be kissed.” 

Old girls are quite shrewd, and that is a fact. 
They’ve had much experience, and so 
They know just what to do and just when to act 
For to handle a green young beau. 

But any old bach who walks, stately of mien, 
Unceasingly he will persist 
To court a young girl that is sweet sixteen 

Who,—he thinks,—has never been kissed. 


THE WEEPING WILLOW 

O weeping willow, why now weep 

When all the world around is gay?— 
Thou are awake from thy long sleep 

When wintry skies were cold and gray. 
The dews have kissed thy tender bough. 
Thy buds have now burst in the sun, 
Oh, why, then, be so mournful now,— 

As if some wrong to thee’d been done? 

The robin trills his tuneful lay 

For thee at breaking of the dawn. 

And gentle zephyrs ’round thee play 

When ev’ning twilight’s coming on; 

All nature tries to make thee glad 

With flowers sweet and happy song, 

Oh, why art thou forever sad 

That nothing can appease thy wrong? 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Beneath thy boughs the lovers meet, 

Of whom the poets e’er have sung, 
And pledge their tender vows so sweet 
That keep the world forever young. 
Perhaps, , tis that which makes thee weep. 
Like some lorn one with lashes wet,— 
Some hidden sorrow buried deep 
Within thy breast, ne’er to forget. 

O lovely willow tree, weep on!— 

For constancy’s the sweetest grace 
That this old world has ever known, 

Which time nor tide can e’er deface. 
Some sorrow lurks in every breast, 

A longing that cannot be told, 

That ne’er by words can be expressed: 

In silence we are best consoled. 


A QUAKER MAID 

O you charming Quaker maid, 

With sweet face in smiles arrayed; 
Wavy locks of auburn hair, 

Eyes of azure sparkling there 
That are windows of the soul, 
Speaking mirth you can’t control; 
And your heart is just as true 
As the crystal drops of dew 
Glist’ning in the morning sun. 

When a lovely day’s begun; 

While your glad voice rings as gay 
As the mock-birds tuneful lay 



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45 


As it echoes from the hill, 

Or the laughing, rippling rill 
On its journey to the sea,— 

And you’re honest as can be! 

O sweet, lovely Quaker maid, 

With your mien so calm and staid; 
You are fairer than a day 
In the flowery month of May; 

And your heart is all atune, 

Like the happy month of June; 

For the kind words that you say 
Scatter sunshine on the way; 

And you bring both joy and cheer 
To each one that you come near, 
You are like some rich perfume, 

For you drive away the gloom; 
There’s no counting of your worth; 
You’re an angel on this earth, 

And a noble lesson teach, 

With plain life and simple speech. 

O you happy Quaker maid, 

In your simple garb arrayed; 

May you never, never cry, 

Nor tears dim your lustrous eye, 

And roll down your dimpled cheek, 
Where the smiles play hide-and-seek 
From your ruddy, rosy lip. 

Where the bee could honey sip, 
And the nector you’d not miss,— 
And we’d love to steal a kiss, 

If we thought we’d only dare 
Just to even venture there. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Ah! put up that haughty frown 
That your brow is pulling down; 
There’ll be no smile, we’re afraid, 
From the pretty Quaker maid. 

O you modest Quaker maid, 

We are sometimes half-afraid 
That sly Cupid with his dart 
Pierce some noble suitor’s heart, 
And his eyes will beam on you 
As he tells of love so true. 

(But the tongue you can’t believe 
For it often will deceive. 

And flattering falsehoods make 
With pretense for love’s own sake.) 
If the tongue be mute and meek 
Eyes a deeper language speak; 
Hearts will throb with no disguise; 
Lovers know when eyes meet eyes. 
May he play no masquerade 
When he wins the Quaker maid! 

O you gentle Quaker maid, 

When the nuptial plans are laid, 
Then may you no pleasure miss 
And your life be full of bliss! 

When you’re mistress of a home, 
Then the cares of life will come. 
When you feel you’re growing old 
May you never fret nor scold; 

Be as happy as when thou’rt young 
Ever careful of thy tongue. 

In thy ways forever set. 



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47 


Nor be always in a pet; 

And rant ’round ’bout this or that 
To stir up and angry spat 
Always kind and patient be— 

God will surely smile on thee! 

O you winsome Quaker maid, 

May you never be betray’d,— 
Laughing eye and flowing curl, 
Happy, honest, Christian girl! 

Catch the sunshine while you may, 
Ere it vanishes away; 

Ere lines come upon thy brow 
Which is smooth and placid now. 
Ere the wrinkle scars thy cheek 
Where the dimples now so meek 
Play their pranks, and the eye 
Lose its luster by and by. 

And the locks of auburn hue 
Are all streaked with silver, too. 

A noble lesson thou dost teach 
With pure life and simple speech! 


THANKSGIVING PETE 

The boys call him Thanksgiving Pete. 

You see, it happened this away: 
Young Peter tried his best to eat 

All his ma had Thanksgiving day. 
Ate turkey, and the dressing too, 

Cakes, gravies, and all kind of pie, 



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And they thought ’fore the night was through 
That little Pete would surely die. 

Cranberry sauce, blackberry jam, 

And all such things that he liked best, 

He did into his stomach cram, 

And pickles, too, with all the rest; 

He et perserves, all kinds of sauce, 

Sweet “tater,” puddings, other stuff. 
Looked like ’twould surely kill a hoss 
Before young Peter got enough. 

But when that night when all was still 
And they heard Peter give a yell, 

They made him take a nasty pill, 

To get his little stomach well. 

So, little folks should never try 

To see how much food they can eat, 

For that is just the reason why 

The boys call him Thanksgiving Pete. 


TO PERCY FRAZER* 

You know of some we often meet 
And with a smile we love to greet, 

For as they take us by the hand, 

Somehow we seem to understand 
By the expression on! their face. 

That in their heart is a warm place 
For us, they ever will be true,— 

Now, Percy, this applies to you. 

♦Percy Frazer was for a long time on the mail route, 
and a friend to everyone. 



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49 


So, Percy Frazer, we all know,— 

That you’H find friends where’er you go. 
For when you come on this mail route, 
Serving the patrons all about, 

The gloomy ones you did beguile 
With cheerful words and sunny smile; 
And punctual service, kind and true, 

And so, we fell in love with you. 

We learned to watch from day to day, 

For you a-smiling on your way; 

’Twas then the girls would look, you know, 
To get a letter from their beau. 

And old folks, too, would often sigh, 

And think of other days gone by. 

You’d cheer us when you came in view 
In fact, we all expected you. 

And now we’re loath from you to part, 
You’ve won a warm spot in our heart. 

For you and yours we’ll ever pray, 

That God will bless you on your way! 

And when your tasks on earth are o’er 
Oh, may you reach that golden shore, 

And there with angels ever sing 
Around the throne of God our King! 


IN REVERIE 

Oft, when I tire of haunts of men, 
And shades of night are falling, 



50 OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


In rev’rie, by my fireside then 
I hear loved voices calling. 

Those who long crost the crystal sea, 

Where blissful joy is never ending, 

So still come back and talk with me,— 
Sunshine with shadows blending. 

For there, on each familiar face, 

Bright smiles for me are showing, 

And with the old-time lovely grace 
My faded cheeks set glowing. 

How kind of them who always knew 

Just what my lonely soul was needing, 

To come with comfort kind and true 

In answer to my sad heart’s pleading! 

Life is to me a tangled skein, 

Which years I’ve been unwinding 

With joy and grief and toil and pain,— 

The end I’ll soon be finding. 

How sweet it is at eventide 

When this earth’s busy cares are fretting, 
To have my loved ones by my side 
As my low sun is slowly setting. 

I ne’er can speak the highest worth 
In humble songs I’m singing 
Of pleasures on this sombre earth 
That honest friends are bringing. 

They guide and stead me on my way. 

All through life’s surging billows, 

Help make the bed whereon I lay 
As soft as downy pillows. 



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51 


It is not wealth nor worldly fame 

That makes my life worth living, 
The goal that is my highest aim 
Is that I'm comfort giving 
To those who are in sore distress 
Life’s rugged road pursuing,— 
What helps to make my life’s success 
Is flowers I am strewing. 


VILLAGE LOAFERS 

When I feel sorto’ lonesome like, an’ spirits all run 
down, 

I go where loafers gether in a little country town; 

An’ hear ’em as they argy before the grocery store, 

A-chawin’ scrap terbacker an’ spittin’, too, galore. 

All they want is an argument an’ stirrin’ up a row, 

To make it interestin’, an’ they’re not a-carin’ how. 

For when they git in earnest, then I tell you it’s a 
fright, 

An’ cussin’ of each other as if they’s goin’ to fight. 

Some of ’em perch upon a box, an’ there they’ll set 
and spout 

Of politics, an’ other things they don’t know much 
about; 

Map out a course our government at all times should 
pursue, 

An’ tell jist what our Senators an’ Congressmen must 
do. 

They’ll prophesy about hard times, an’ what’s a-goin’ 
to be 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


In all ’em foreign countries that’s away across the sea. 

Jist strike up any subject, an’ then some one in the 
crowd 

Will go to rantin’ all around an’ git to talkin’ loud. 

When they git on religion,—oh! ’tis then they make 
it hot; 

Some claim baptizin’ is the thing, an’ some claim it 
is not; 

That all of Jordon’s waters o’er their heads a-pourin’ 
down. 

Would never cleanse ’em of their sins, nor fit ’em for 
a crown. 

An’ so they set an’ argy from the dawn ’til close of 
day. 

An’ chaw their scrap terbacker, an’ jist fool their time 
away. 

But then it’s interestin’ when a man is feelin’ blue, 

Jist to go an’ sorto’ listen to what some men folks 
do. 


SCATTERING FLOWERS 

When death has claimed me for his own, 
My spirit to its Maker flown, 

My heart is still within my breast, 

No more with cares of life oppress’d; 
From this vain world I’ve passed away, 
And friends are weeping o’er my clay. 
The flowers on my casket spread, 

No fragrance for me then they shed. 



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53 


When death has kissed my eyelids down, 
And storms for me no more will frown, 
The kindly words that you would give, 

Oh, let me hear them while I live!— 

When they are spoken by my bier 
They bring to me no smile of cheer 
When cold as marble is my brow— 

Oh, let me, let me hear them now! 

So, as we journey day by day. 

Let’s strew fair flowers along the way; 
Make someone’s pathway seem more bright, 
And make some heavy heart beat light. 

Kind words will soothe the heaving sigh, 
Bring lustre to the tear-dimmed eye, 

But when we’re dead all kindness shown 
Can never, never then atone. 


BARE-FOOT BOYS 

Bare-foot boys at play on a summer day. 

By the road on a grassy hill, 

Where it v/as steep they would run and leap 
Then slide as you know boys will, 

And pull each other’s toes, and tear their clothes, 
And just make the buttons fly, 

Crack their foolish jokes and yell at folks 
As they were passing by. 

And one boy named Jim, they got hold of him. 
And then they slid him all about, 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Up and down the hill and around until 
They wore his old trousers out. 

The pants he wore that day had stripes of gray 
with a small black strip in between, 

But then I tell you where they’d all worn through 
The grass had stained him rather green. 

Soon a beau and lass that way did pass 
To take a nice evening walk, 

Where those rowdy boys with their pesky noise 
Did yell, and laugh, and talk; 

The girl she said as she tossed her head: 

“Let us walk a little slow,” 

And,—with a smile,—“tease the boys awhile. 

And we’ll have some fun, you know.” 

Then she said to him whom they called Jim, 

Rather sober, quiet, and serene, 

“Your pants front part they are striped with gray 
But the back part’s motley green. 

She blushed rosy-red and then hung her head, 

As he bashfully replied: 

“I beg your pardon, miss, but the truth is this. 

That green part you see is my hide.” 


LATE SUMMER 

In gorgeous splendor Summer walks with ease, 
With beauty throned upon her noble brow ; 
On stately hills and in the vales where plow 
Has stirred the fertile soil, in balmy breeze 
Corn tassels wave, and on the orchard trees 

The fruit is smiling on each graceful bough; 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


55 


A.nd fragrant clover lies stored in the mow,-— 

All nature striving with her charms to please 
The most fastidious; and butterflies 

Collect in groups, so closely all around 
The warm, moist spongy places, where the ground 
Has dried beneath the radient sun in skies 
Of the most beauteous amethyst and gold. 

Late Summer, thou the sweetest charm doth hold! 


THE NOBLER THINGS 

When age comes gently stealing on 
And cares of life around us teem. 

Our youthful pleasures all are gone 

They've vanished like an empty dream, 
And, like the autumn birds, have flown 
To sunny skies on fleeting wings; 

Then Fate, through nature doth atone. 

And we can see the nobler things. 

The loftiest course there is on earth 
Is walking in the Supreme laws, 

Above the ribald jester's mirth 
And fostering a worthy cause, 

While youthful aspirations rage 

And luster 'round our pathway flings; 
Much better 'tis in riper age,— 

When we can see the nobler things 

Some are who live on earth in vain 

To hoard up wealth they’ll never use, 



56 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


And only dross of life they gain 

And all the richest blessings lose. 

They move about in discontent 

As this sphere in its orbit swings, 

Don’t realize that God hath meant 

That we should see the nobler things. 

The chains that closely ’round us twine, 

The ties of friendship ever link. 

Like tendrils of a clinging vine 

As we walk on life’s shady brink. 

But those who live alone for self 

Ne’er hear the songs that nature sings, 
And are like mummies on a shelf 

Who cannot see the nobler things. 

Our God with lavish hand hath sown 
The beauties broadcast o’er the land 
For us to claim and call our own 
If we would only understand; 

The depths wherein His mercy lies, 

And the contentment that it brings, 

He gives to everyone who tries 

And who can see the nobler things. 

The waves in rythmic measures roll. 

The stars in splendor stud the sky, 

And on this earth from pole to pole 
His great majestic wonders lie. 

How great, O God, Thy wisdom is! 

And rapture in our bosom springs, 
When we behold the works of His 
And dwell upon the nobler things. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


57 


CHILDHOOD’S PLEASURES 

Wunst little Isaac’s ma an’ pa 
Tuk him to the country fair, 

An’ Ike wuz tickled,—oh, my law!— 

Fust time that he wuz ever there. 

He seed the merry-go-a-roun’, 

’Nen had a coniption fit, 

’Cause his ma said ’at she’d be boun’ 

’At he should never ride on it. 

A thing there played a lively tune, 

An’ Isaac wanted so to ride, 

His pa bought him a toy ballon 
Jes’ so’s to keep him satisfied. 

Oh, gee-whiz!—but Ike wuz more’n proud 
Jist a-holdin’ to that string, 

Still, he wanted to jine the crowd 
An’ ride on ’at air funny thing. 

Ike’s ma an’ aunt, that afternoon 
Went to see the fine art place, 

Ike’s pa tuk him an’ his balloon 
Out to where the hosses race; 

His pa dumb up where he could see 
’Em go as hard as they could tear, 
When he dumb down, w’y Isaac he 

Had wandered clean away frum there. 

Ike’s pa wuz purtee nigh scared green 
’N’en, he hunted Isaac’s ma. 

They went where they heard ’at machine 
A-playin’ “Turkey in the straw.” 



58 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


An’ Ike’s ma purt’ nigh had a spell, 

Jist like excited women will, 

When she heard little Isaac yell 
An’ jist a-laughin’ fit-to-kill. 

An’ Ike still helt to his balloon 
Jist a-skittin’ roun’ an’ roun’, 

But she got Isaac off an’ soon 

They left that-air ole fair groun’. 

His Ma wuz mad, an’ wouldn’t cheap 
A-ridin’ home beside his pap; 

An’ Ike wuz tired, an’ lay asleep 

Right there, acrost his mother’s lap. 

“OCTOBER” 

We are here to meet “October” 

With his welcome smile for us, 
Stately mien so calm and sober 
With no big hurrah and fuss; 

Only with the winds a-sighing 

Through the tops of orchard trees, 
And the crimson leaves a-flying 
In the early autumn breeze. 

Pawpaw now is ripe and mellow; 

Fleecy clouds float o’er the sky; 
Pumpkin’s turned from green to yellow. 
Ready for Thanksgiving pie; 

In the wood the nuts are falling, 

On the fence at early morn, 

To his mate the quail is calling 
By the fields of rip’ning corn. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


59 


Oh, we all love old “October” 

With the crimson and the gold. 
With his stately mien so sober, 

And the beauties that unfold. 
Now our hearts are full of gladness 
And praises to our God above, 
For He drives away our sadness 

Fills our souls with joy and love. 


PATIENCE 

We often speak of the patience of Job, 

His a trait that much is desired, 

It’s far better than to wear ermine robe 
And revel in wealth till we’re tired. 

If we have patience we always can win 
The battles we fight through this life. 

While they claim that Job was a man free from sin 
They speak but harsh words of his wife. 

Of course all his losses were hard to bear 
With boils on the back of his neck, 

His wife must have used the most patient of care 
To save him from being a wreck. 

No doubt she’d speak up when he’d moan his fate,— 
His pleasures of life looked so slim,— 

Spoke more in pity than she did in hate 
When trying to pacify him. 

Man will generally splutter around 
And from trying tasks slip away, 

While hi§ wife at ho'me is most always found,— 
She’s tied fast, and there has to stay. 



60 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Speaking of patience, nine times out of ten 
A woman will come out ahead, 

If man had to bear what she does, why, then,— 

It would not be long ’til he’s dead I 

THE PLACE WHERE WE WERE BORN 

No matter where on earth we roam, 

In low or lofty sphere, 

The memories of our childhood home 
To us are ever dear. 

Tender emotions quickly start 
Its beauty to adorn, 

For fondly cherished in the heart 

Is the place where we were born. 

When stormy clouds are o’er our skies 
And we’re tossed to and fro; 

The visions then before us rise 
Of scenes so long ago. 

To us it is a sacred spot 

That naught can make us scorn, 

For never, never is forgot 

The place where we were born. 

When eyes are dim, and heads are gray, 

And forms with age do bend, 

And time is slipping fast away,— 

We near life’s journey’s end,— 

’Tis then we of times love to tell 
Of youth’s sweet rosy morn, 

And on the old-time pleasures dwell 
Of the place where we were born. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


61 


SEEMS SO LONG 

“Seems so long,” the little boy said, 
“Before I will be a man.” 

Put a torn straw hat on his tow head, 

Took his fish-pole and bait can, 

Called his dog, and away they went 
Where the sun-fish bite the best, 

At the old log drift where the elm tree leant, 
And the oriole swung its nest. 

“The road seems long,” the young man said, 
“That leads to the halls of fame; 

And many weary miles to tread 
Ere I carve a gilded name.” 

Then he set forth with might and main 
And worked with an earnest zeal, 

At last the cherished goal did gain 
And his wordly dreams were real. 

“It don’t seem long,” the old man said, 

And looked on the setting sun. 

“The wheels of time have quickly sped 
And my earthly course is run.” 

He bowed his hoary head and slept, 
Without e’en a sigh or frown; 

The angels softly ’round him crept, 

As they kissed his eyelids down. 


IT’S NATURAL 

Women folks are sorto’ curious, 
Ofttimes fill us with dismay 



62 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


When they git to actin’ furious 

’Cause they cannot have their way. 
When with words they’re not prevailin’ 
Tears come gushin’ to their eye, 
For we know it is their failin’ 

Then to hunker down an’ cry. 

We can stand their wild commotion 
An’ their slander an’ abuse, 

But to move we take a notion 

When they start the optic juice. 
Man will labor an’ not murmer 
An’ to please ’em he will try. 

But it puts him on a hummer 
Whene’er they begin to cry. 

That must have been when it started. 

If some point they fail to gain 
They will act so broken-hearted 

An’ tears fall like summer rain. 
Man will do his best to please ’em 
To their rescue he will fly, 

Almost break his neck to ease ’em,— 
For he hates to see ’em cry. 

I”ll bet it made Adam wonder 
’Way back in the early years, 

When he had to knuckle under 
To Eve’s flood o’ briny tears. 

She who’d always been so jolly,— 

Sweetest creature ’neath the sky!— 
’Spect it made him melancholy 
When she first begin to cry. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


63 


THE ABANDONED WATER-MILL 

The water-wheel is resting in the pen-stock, 

And the wooden fore-bay has all tumbled down, 

The old meal-buhr is lying on the bed-rock. 

With the hopper gaping like a rustic clown. 

The rats and mice have gnawed the belts to pieces, 

And the main drive-pulley’s sagging out of line, 

And the flour-rolls have rusted into creases 

That in other days ground golden grain so fine. 

The old flour-packer’s standing still and solemn. 

And no farmer’s grists are waiting by the door, 

And no ricks of flour are standing like a column 

For at last the old mill’s grinding days are o’er. 

The sparrows in the attic now are nesting 

And they also have possession of the reels, 

For ther’s now no one around to be molesting,— 

And the mice are playing ’mong the bevel-wheels. 

Now the cobwebs are all hanging from the rafter, 

And the roof lets in the rain, the sleet, and snow, 

No more is heard the children’s merry laughter, 

As when playing in the bins so long ago. 

And no more do lights within the windows glisten 
As when the old mill used to run at night,— 

When the miller would, with lantern, watch and listen. 
Taking care that everything was running right. 

The siding now is all torn loose, and sagging, 

And through the windows comes the howling blast 



64 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


The heavy doors are on their hinges dragging 
For the days of their old usefulness is past. 

The farmers with their grists no more are coming 
And waiting for their turn outside the door 
And hushed the old wheat-cleaners’ merry humming,~ 
They are standing silent on the second floor. 

No water now is in the tail-race flowing, 

Everything is hushed, is quiet, all about. 

And tall grass is within the head-race growing 

For the freshets have long washed the old dam. 

Barefoot boys along the race no more are straying 
To fish for perch, and cat, or goggle-eye. 

In the big, deep hole where they were staying 

At the waste-way where the stream went gliding 
by. 

For gone, gone is that old mill’s fame and glory, 

And it now is quickly crumbling to decay, 

It’s leaning from the basement to top story, 

For the tooth of Time is gnawing it away. 

The old miller's often seen there sitting 

In the old door with the silence all around, 

And he thinks of all the years that have gone flitting, 
And the grain that in the old mill he has ground. 

His eyes have now become so dim and bleary, 

And his footsteps now are faltering, short, and slow 
For he has grown so feeble, sad, and weary, 

And his head has frosted white as driven snow. 



OLD W4TER-MILL RHYMES 


65 


The mill and miller have gone down together, 

And their years of usefulness on earth are past,— 
A few more days of rough and stormy weather,— 
But they still are holding true friends till the last. 

A stone will mark the miller’s silent slumber; 

The wheel-pit, where the mill went to decay; 

And time flow on in years of ceaseless number, 

Till the dawning of that glorious Judgment Day. 


THE RAZOR STRAP 

I’m not a bit afeard of Dad, 

When I’m naughty any day, 

He’ll glare aroun’ like he wuz mad 
Nen Birgit it right away, 

But when Ma speaks I’d better heed, 
Fur she’ll take me crost her lap, 
An’ jis’ give me all ’at I need 

With Dad’s ole long razor strap. 

Now, Dad he will jis’ threat an’ threat 
’At he’s goin’ to box my ears, 

But all he’ll do is scold an’ fret,— 

’At don’t give me any fears. 

When Ma lays down the law to me 
I know ’at she will not 6lap, 

But I will ketch it crost her knee 
With Dad’s ole long razon strap. 

My Ma’s as kind as she kin be,— 

I think more of her than Dad; 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


She often say ’at she kain’t see 
Jis’ what makes me be so bad. 

I promise if she’ll give me a chance 
’At I’ll be the goodest chap, 
When she is dustin’n out my pants 
With Dad’s ole long razon strap, 


IN MEMORY 

In memory there’s a sacred place 

Where all the lovely things we store, 
Naught enters that can e’er deface 
The portals of that guarded door; 

Each loving word, each sunny smile, 

That made our clouded skies more fair, 
And did the lonely hours beguile 

We cherish with the treasures there. 

In memory there’s a sacred place 

Where sad and weary, oftimes we 
Look, and behold a smiling face 

That now has crossed the crystal sea. 

And watches o’er us from above,— 

So quiet, peaceful, and serene,— 

Still keeping bright the lamp of love 

With gleams of joys that once have been. 

In memory there’s a sacred place 
We enter in the solemn night 
When sleep has flown, and there we trace 
Some old-time joy with pure delight 




OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


67 


That o'er our bosom brings a thrill, 

As old friends gather by our side, 
We know with them we're living still,— 
In mem'ry we will e'er abide. 


A WOMAN'S APRON 

Did you ever note the uses women put their apron 
to?— 

Often subject to abuses in so many things they do. 

They’ll tie it at the waist-line with a double bow so 
neat,—• 

A nice apron on a woman will make her look more 
sweet. 

And when they see some unexpected guests a-coming 
in, 

They’ll put on a clean apron and look tidy as a pin. 

When winter wind is chill they use it to protect their 
hands. 

And then roll ’em so tight in it that 'tis straining on 
the bands; 

Or when the sun is shining wear no bonnet on their 
head, ^ 

But turn their apron gently up and throw it o'er 
instead; 

Of times they “tote taters’ 1 in it that they are about 
to peel, 

And then use it to fetch fuel too that’s to cook the 
ev'ning meal; 

Also have the clothes-pins in it when hanging out the 
clothes, 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Then turn the wrong side of it when they’d want to 
wipe their nose; 

Flop it in the air so wildly when shoo-ing some old 
hen, 

And try to scare her crazy, so she’ll not come back 
again; 

And then use it in a hurry for dusting off the chairs; 

Maybe flog a young’un with it that she’s caught quite 
unawares. 

Oh, that garment is so handy and used for so many 
things,—• 

We even sometimes see man tied to his wife’s apron 
strings. 


AT THE WINDOW 

Snug, at the window’s cosy seat, 

Sits a fair young damsel, reading, 

While a timid lad across the street 
For a smile is softly pleading; 

And watching shyly for a chance 

That their eyes might be meeting; 

But then he fails to win the glance 

Called by his heart’s quick beating: 

Her eyes are burieed in her book 
He’s denied thht bit of heaven 

She does not care to even look,— 

For she is not yet quite eleven. 

O timid lad, you still are young, 

As time slipg by you will be wiser; 

And when with Cupid’s dart you’re stung,— 
Just listen, now, to your adviser: 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


69 


“The little heartaches never mind, 

And your same course go on pursuing; 

In five more years, then, you will find 
She will encourage you in wooing. 

The courtship spurned that you’ve begun, 

She’ll then for that be warmly yearning, 
For you will then be twenty-one, 

And she into sweet sixteen turning.” 


THE MAN WE LOVE 

We love the man who goes forth without fear, 

And fights the daily battles fair and just; 

When duty calls, he bravely says: “I must.’* 

With steps unfaltering and song of cheer, 

He clings to honor, which he holds most dear: 

Has better a good name with but a crust 
Than life infamy with none to trust! 

He meets life’s problems with his conscience clear. 
With faith in God who doeth all things best, 

He does not shed a tear when fond hopes fail, 
Nor moan his fate, and in harsh language wail. 

With friendless and smiles for the opprest, 

He brings contentment to some weary breast, 

And in the end o’er all he doth prevail. 


A HOOSIER’S VIEWS 

When’er the Hoosiers go to heaven, an’ they most 
allers do, 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Providin’ their passports are clear so’s St. Peter’ll let 
’em through; 

W’y they’re apt to look around awhile, before they 
settle down, 

Fur to sorto’ git the lay o’ things ere they adjust their 
crown; 

An’ cast their eyes about 'em soon as they pass the 
pearly gate, 

To see if everything’s fust-class an’ is strictly up-to- 
date. 

With a droll expression on their face will stare around 
so strange, 

As if they’s kindo’ wund’rn like if they’d bettered by 
the change. 

Fur you know in Indyany here, w’y, ev’rything’s the 
best,— 

If you long to go to Heaven, or you’re hankerin’ fur 
rest, 

Then jist come out here an’ stay awhile, an’ learn the 
Hoosier ways. 

An’ soon you’ll wear a sunny smile, an’ your heart be 
full o’ praise, 

Jist a-seein’ how kind Providence has strewn with 
lavish hand, 

The great beauties all around us here that we can 
understand. 

Oh, you 11 never want to ramble, nor from this good 
place to roam, 

Until death shall close your eyelids an’ the angels call 
you home. 

If you are wantin’ things romantic, an’ fur nice 
scenery thirst, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


71 


Before you go to foreign lands, jist see Indyany first. 

Fur we’ve got the hills an' hollers, an’ we’ve got the 
level plain, 

An’ we have the lakes an' rivers, an’ we’ve got the 
fields o’ grain. 

When it comes to real comfort, then I tell you fair 
an’ square, 

That there is no place in this wide world that ever 
can compare 

With good ole Indyany, though some claim we folks 
are queer, 

An’ Heaven may be grander, but we’re better 
’cquainted here. 


GETTING EVEN 

Once when I was fishing where 
I had thought the big fish were, 
Threw my hook where it was deep, 
Where the large ones try to keep 
Clear, away, plum out o’ sight,— 
Very soon I got a bite; 

Then the line began to slack 
And commenced a-creeping back; 
But with patience I did wait 
For that fish to take my bait. 

And I watched my line until 
It had settled down right still; 
Then I drew it in to look 
If the bait was off my hook. 

It wasn’t long till I could see 
Hook was naked as could be. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Tried again, threw back once more. 
It did just like it did before; 

So I raised it up to see 
What it was a-fooling me. 

Got my hook up in the air. 

With a craw-dad hanging there 
With his pincers every one 
Just like he was having fun; 

I reached out to take him, when 
He let loose, drooped back, and then 
Starts off fast as he could climb, 
Going backwards all the time, 

And sneaked off where he could wait 
Somewhere there to steal my bait. 

I got peeved, and said; “By jing, 

I will catch that measly thing, 

That does naught but lay and wait 
In the creek to steal my bait. 

Like I’d nothing else to do 
But fool around a-feeding you!” 

So I tried again, and then 
Stood and held my pole, and when 
He took hold I gave a yank 
Brought that craw-dad to the bank. 

Up I picked him with a smile, 
Stood and looked at him awhile; 
Says I: “This is what I’ll do 
That I may get square with you.” 
Then I pulled off legs and shell 
Put him otl the hook right well, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


73 


Threw, to see if I could git 
Some fish that was kind o’ fit 
For the fryingpan or pot, 

Pay for the trouble that I’d got. 

Pd get something if I’d try 
Either Bass or goggle-eye. 

Soon the line began to jump, 

I could feel my glad heart thump; 
So I rubbed my hands in glee, 

I knew there's a fish for me, 
Which I'd get if I would wait 
Till he runs off with my bait; 

Soon I land a two-pound bass 
Which laid flopping in the grass. 

In every age or clime, 

There will always come a time 
For all those who lay and wait 
And will steal some fellows bait. 
They will never gain a whit. 

But soon get the worst of it. 

For no road has yet been found 
But at last 'twill wind around; 

'Tis a fact without a doubt 
Their past sins will find them out. 


SOME MEN FOLKS 

Now, some men claim that women's queer, 
That may be so, but I declare 
Some men I’ve met would very near 
Just make a common feller swear. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Contrary, and so unconcerned. 

Beats anything I've ever seen! 

I’m not profane, but I’ll be durned 

If I see what some men folks mean. 

IVe seen some onery trifling men 

Who’d loiter 'round the whole day long, 

And seem the best contented when 

They know they're doing something wrong. 

I don't see how some women live 

With grouchy guys around their home; 

They would be justified to give 

A knockout blow across their dome. 

They are opposed to moral laws, 

It is a fact we must confess, 

And try to down each noble cause 
Engaging in pure cussedness. 

Then let the woman have her right, 

Of her shortcomings do not prate. 

And she’ll put up a gallant fight 

To keep the pesky men folks straight. 


A PETITION 

Lord, I come not to Thee for light 

Nor that the veil lift from mine eyes, 
For Thou hast shown me what is right 
And it can not be otherwise. 

The light to me Thou hast revealed, 

That I a empty space might fill, 

And promised Thou would’st ever sheld— 
Lord, giv& to me the power of will. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


7 5 


And knowledge to me Thou hast lent 
To aid the sphere in which I move, 
That I may act with good intent, 

And opportunities improve; 

And taught to me what is the best 

That I may know the good from ill, 
And in Thy laws I will be blest— 

Lord, give to me the power of will. 

Not for more courage do I plead,— 

Of that I have a goodly store, 

For Thou’st bestowed all that I need,— 

Why should I pray to Thee for more? 
'Tis not for that, O Lord, I crave. 

But love into my heart instil, 

That 'midst temptations I'll be brave— 

Lord, give to me the power of will. 

I know the paths my feet should tread, 

In my heart's written Thy decree, 

Thy wonders are around me spread 

All o'er the land and depths of sea. 

I know Thy mercies never slack, 

Help me Thy purpose to fulfill, 

Then grant, I pray, the thing I lack,— 
Lord, give to me the power of will. 

I have the knowledge and the light. 

All which are graciously supplied, 

I know the ways of truth and right 

To walk 'long with Thee, side by side; 
May I abhor all selfish creed 

As I plod up life’s rugged hill, 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


And leave my footprints in the deed— 
Lord, give to me the power of will! 


EMPTY ARMS 

All is full of sunshine, 

This life is full of cheer. 

When I know you are mine 

Then I have naught to fear; 

For I’m free from all alarms 

When you fill my empty arms. 

Skies are always clearer 
And of a deeper blue, 

Heav’n above seems nearer 
Whene’er I am with you; 

And this world holds the sweetest charms 
When you fill my empty arms. 

Fill my heart with gladness, 

Bring luster to my eye, 

Drive away all sadness 
Be thou forever nigh. 

Shield me from all earthly harms,— 
Fill my hungry, empty arms! 


ON THE OLD MILL RACE 

When the sultry sun is shining 
On a summer day so hot, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


77 


And to loiter we’re inclining, 

Then there is no better spot; 

Than where willows are inviting 
To a cool and shady place, 

Where the goggle-eyes are biting 
At the waste-way of the race. 

There is something fascinating 
As we see the water pour. 

And we’ll linger meditating 

Watching wavelets kiss the shore, 
And the current gently flowing 
With a slow and even pace, 

With the water lillies growing 
All along the old mill race; 

Watch the sky a-growing hazy 

As with half-closed eye we look; 
Feel so do-less like and lazy, 

Hardly care to bait the hook; 

And the water-bugs are swimming 
As they fast each other chase,— 
Swallows flying low and skimming 
O’er the water in the race. 

And mud-turtles are a-sunning 
On an old half-sunken log 
Where the sluggish water’s running; 

And the croaking of the frog 
Sounds as if he's doubtful whether 
He’d get tenor and the bass 
Tuned in perfect chord together 
For the concert ’long the race. 



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OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Snipes and kildeers are a-wading 

On sand-bars that suit them best. 
And the leafy elm tree’s shading 
The glad oriole’s swinging nest. 
Where the weeds and grass are shaking, 
There a muskrat’s slide we trace, 
Where his winter’s home he’s making 
In the bank of the old race. 

Hear the redbird’s merry whistle 
In the foliage so dense, 

Where the wild-rose and the thistle 
Grow along the pasture fence. 

And the busy chipmunks trying 
Ev’ry moment to embrace, 

And the loud kingfishers flying 
Up and down the old mill race. 

Some will boast about the city 

And the pleasures they find there. 
But on them we look with pity, 

For they’ve nothing to compare 
With the gentle breeze that’s blowing, 
Which brings color to the face, 

And the beauties nature’s showing 
All along an old mill race. 


GREETING 

We all love to meet a fellow 
With a smile upon his face. 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


79 


And there’s not a streak of yellow 
’Round about him any place. 

For to each one he-is meeting 
As he passes ’long the way, 

He’ll ask, as he’s kindly greeting: 

“How are you, my friend, to-day?” 

There is not a man or woman 
Nor a little girl or boy, 

Nor to other living human 

But ’twill bring a thrill of joy; 

For it acts with magic power 

And a smile begins to play,— 

For kind words a frown will cower— 
“How are you, my friend, to-day?” 

Oft, when some sad heart is aching 
With a heavy load of care. 

Then some weight we can be taking 
From the burden that they bear. 
And can brighten eyes when tearful 
If in greeting we will say 
In a manner kind and cheerful: 

“How are you, my friend, to-day?” 

That’s the reason why a fellow 

With kind words and sunny smile, 
Like an apple, ripe and mellow, 

Wins a welcome all the while; 

Of his presence we’re not tiring, 

For he drives the gloom away, 

As he kindly is inquiring: 

“How are you, my friend, to-day?” 



80 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


WHEN YOU HAVE THE BLUES 

When a feller feels so onTy thet he does not even 
care, 

An’ wouldn't give a chaw terbacker fer to live er die, 
I swear 

Thet the best thing there is fer him is to take a hook 
an' line. 

An' go whur the creek is laughin' an’ wild mornin’- 
glories twine; 

Whur the turtles are a-sunnin’, an’ the fish are bitin', 
too, 

An’ the merry birds are singin’ songs as sweet as 
honey-dew,— 

Oh, it puts the ginger in him, an’ he feels like he would 
give 

Ev’rything he lays his hands on jist to git a chance to 
live! 


SOME OLD FRIENDS 

While old friends I am respecting, 

And I will be till I die, 

Yet some things they’re not neglecting 
That are apt to make me sigh; 

On their mem’ry still is dwelling 
Some occurrence of the past, 

When we hear something they’re telling 
That will a reflection cast. 

For they are death on relating 

How I once got licked at school, 



OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


81 


When I ran off and went skating,— 

’Twas against the teachers rule; 

And how I, my lesson missing, 

Had to stand out on the floor; 

And the time teacher caught me kissing 
Girls behind the schoolroom door. 

And when cider we were stealing,— 

Went to spelling school that night,— 
I could not walk straight for reeling; 

Oh, gee-wiz, but I got tight! 

Then the boys so quickly hurried 
Me off home, and put me to bed, 

To my best girl, who seemed worried, 

I had taken quite sick, they said. 

Now, the new friends are not knowing 
'Bout the capers that I’ve cut. 

In my youth, when wild oats sowing, 

They may have suspicions, but 
They’re not at each other winking, 

And then shyly smile and cough, 
Then just act as if they’re thinking 
Of some stunts that I’ve pulled off; 

Don’t know when we “frizzed” the chickens, 
And got in a melon patch; 

When our parents raised the dickens, 
Whipped the whole endurin’ batch; 
Nor when we ticktacked the preacher; 

When we killed an old maid’s cat; 

And played pranks upon our teacher, 

Nor when we got licked for that. 



82 


OLD WATER-MILL RHYMES 


Now, since I became more settled, 
’Specially in certain ways, 

I get somewhat riled and nettled 
When reminded of those days. 

And while old friends I’m respecting, 
Yet when I’m put to the test,— 

My old pranks they’re not neglecting,— 
I enjoy the new friends best. 


ERE WE SLEEP 

When dark shadows ’round us creep, 
We should put all cares away, 

Ere we close our eyes in sleep 

Lift our hearts to God and pray; 
Thanking Him who reigns above, 

And His grace on us bestows. 

For His wondrous, boundless love 
And the mercy that He shows. 

We should pray for strength to live 
True and faithful day by day, 

All shortcomings to forgive 

And strew flowers on the way. 
When our hearts with love are pure, 
God has promised He would keep— 
In His care we rest secure 
As we gently fall asleep. 






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